


Dance With Me

by Lynds



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Arthur has terrible self-esteem, Arthur-centric, Homophobic Language, M/M, Music, Protective Arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 19:09:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10646202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynds/pseuds/Lynds
Summary: Arthur doesn't want to be in this dark hipster bar with co-workers he hates. But then there's this guy dancing like no-one's judging him, and Arthur can't figure out if he wants him, or wants to be him.





	Dance With Me

**Author's Note:**

> So this fic came to me while I was dancing like an idiot at my friend's gig (to this song in particular, seriously, listen to my drummer friend and let me bask in his reflected glory! The band's called Zurich, they rock)
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G5z-soVlG2g 
> 
> I was sort of being like Arthur at the start of that gig, though by the middle of it another friend and I were being more like Merlin - yay for good live music!

Arthur was not happy.

It had just gone 10pm and there was the distinct possibility he was going to turn into a pumpkin if he didn’t leave _right now._

Instead, he stood with one hand in his trouser pocket and the other gripping some vile cocktail with crushed coffee beans sprinkled in a gritty mess over the ice, and tried not to look like he’d come straight from work. Which he had. Really, the only reason he'd even dragged himself away from his desk, leaving year 11’s business studies coursework half marked was because it was Gwen’s birthday, and she was the only person who made St Leonards’ even half way bearable. God, why couldn't it have been Pellinor’s birthday? Or Cenred’s? Everyone knew he and the head of Humanities hated each other. He could be home in his PJs, Doctor Who on in the background while he finished his marking, leaving his weekend free for…for…

Well, free for whatever he wanted. Instead he was surrounded by drunk colleagues who all seemed to have brought clothes to change into so they actually looked like people enjoying a night out, and not secondary school teachers chaperoning the school disco.

Just to add insult to injury, Arthur had changed into his contacts, leaving his black-rimmed glasses on his desk in a last minute attempt to look more casual. And they were in a hipster bar.

He watched Gwen enjoy her evening surrounded by people who rightfully appreciated her awesomeness, and concentrated on keeping the swirling dark thoughts off his face. _You’re getting fat, the buttons on this shirt are straining. Your teeth look ridiculous, stop smiling like an imbecile. You’ve failed your father and yourself, you don’t belong here, you'll never belong anywhere._

He was mentally formulating his goodbye to Gwen, his drink abandoned on a side table, when the 60s rock cut off, and a slight squeal of feedback cut into everyone’s attention. Arthur turned to a slightly raised area between three pillars where a band had set up, fiddling with their instruments. A man stood at the mic, his elbow leaning on his bass, flicked his long hair back and spoke into the mic.

“Evening Camelot, thanks for joining us. Or letting us interrupt your drinks - whatever, details, details. We’re Avalon, and we’ve got a few songs for you.”

“Ooh,” he heard Gwen say behind him. “Now _that’s_ a birthday present. Look at the guitarist!”

The St Leonards’ group turned to watch the three-piece properly as a tiny black-haired woman tapped her drumsticks above her head and laid into the kit, while the two men in front of her bent over their guitar and bass.

They were good, surprisingly. Arthur was, he could admit, a bit of a music snob. His father may have insisted music tech was an unacceptable degree for a Pendragon to take, but he hadn’t been able to stop him joining BandSoc and scraping a pathetic 2:2 in business because he’d spent every night with his headphones on at the side of the stage, fiddling with the levels of whatever shitty uni band was on stage at the time, making the bass and treble perfect, raising the singer’s volume when a soprano had to hit low notes, or pumping up the quiet bassist when a solo guitarist thought they were more important and forgot about depth of sound. He was unforgiving to any band that couldn’t hold a rhythm together, and if the lead singer with his scruffy beard and floppy hair had dared sing flat he’d be out of the door in an instant. He’d made Battle of the Bands entries cry for less. But the atmospheric guitar, rapid drum heartbeat and minor keys suited his mood, and he felt the music sink into his skin, pulling his joints into an awkward bob. It was too repressed to ever be mistaken for dancing, but he could feel his body wishing.

That’s when he spotted him. Not that you could miss him, long limbs stretched over his head and swaying. His narrow hips jerked and popped with the beat and as he turned, Arthur caught sight of his closed eyes, black lashes resting on the shelf of his high cheekbones. He was beautiful, and alive, and free, and Arthur wanted him and wanted to be like him all at once. He was everything Arthur wasn’t - thin, happy, confident, relaxed, beautiful, and Arthur couldn’t tear his eyes away.

Watching him seemed to have a loosening effect on his own body. As Arthur clapped the first song, he noticed his hips had been really moving, and his hands hadn’t been in his pockets. He straightened into his usual formality, embarrassed, and then hated himself for it when he saw the man’s lean body twist with the beat of the next song.

The crowd bumped and nudged and shoved at them, and Arthur found himself shifted towards the man by diffusion. His face was tipped up again as he turned and rotated his hips. Arthur couldn't figure out what was more intoxicating, the music or this mythical being, and when the caught himself dancing again, he went with it rather than stopping. A smile insinuated itself across his face as his hands raised to head level and his torso started to twist counter to his hips. He found his own eyes drifting shut as the guitar riff played fast and intricate but melancholy at the same time, and the lead singer’s deep voice told of how much worse things could be.

When the song came to an end and he stopped to clap, he released he wasn’t the only new fan. Gwen and Mithian had moved close to the front and were cheering, and even Cenred and Morgause had taken their heads out of their arses long enough to clap. 

“Wow, what a reception,” grinned the frontman, flicking his hair back.

“Told you!” shouted the dancing man, his hand cupped around his mouth. His voice was rich and unexpectedly deep. Arthur noticed the label was poking up from the neck of his blue t-shirt, and his fingers tingled to tuck it down, stroking the back of his long, pale neck as he did.

The singer rolled his eyes. “Yes, thank you, Merlin, for getting us the best gig ever.” Arthur’s chest warmed with the aesthetic satisfaction that the man’s name was as special as he was. He smiled, soft and sappy, as the man — as _Merlin_ bowed. 

“This next song’s called Menace,” the singer continued. “And it’s about Merlin.”

“Oi!”

Arthur laughed like he was in on the joke. The bar was dark, his colleagues weren’t looking at him, and he could indulge in the sad little fantasy. It’s not like it was hurting anyone. His own sense of self-worth was so non-existence it hardly counted, but he knew even as he imagined himself close to Merlin that someone so relaxed and confident could never find Arthur’s stiff upper lip worth his time.

Then one of Merlin’s flailing arms smacked Cenred with a backhand, and Arthur found himself stepping forward to protect _his friend Merlin_ before remembering it was all a fantasy. Merlin hadn’t even seen him, and this was none of Arthur’s business.

“Oi, watch it!”

“Sorry!” Merlin rubbed Cenred’s shoulder, still grinning. “I’m sorry, look, come dance with me, it’s much safer than being a bystander and I —“

“Are you hitting on me?” Cenred slapped his hand away, leaning back in disgust.

“No!” Merlin’s blue eyes were wide and sincere, his hands up in surrender. “No, I just —“

Cenred cut him off with a snort. “Fuck off, you little twink.”

Arthur expected Merlin, a man so confident that he’d been dancing alone with all his heart in a roomful of mostly stationary strangers, to laugh it off, or even flip Cenred the bird. Instead, to his horror, Merlin stepped back and shrank in on himself, his head down and shoulders rounded. He moved away from Cenred, but he didn’t start dancing again. One arm wrapped across his chest and the other bent up to fiddle with his lips, and this was _all wrong_. Someone like Merlin shouldn’t be curled up like that, shouldn't be hiding while the music he obviously loved was still curling around the room looking for its supplicant. Without Merlin dancing, the magic had gone out of the room. 

The guitarist had spotted Merlin’s stillness as well, and when he caught his eye, his forehead crinkled up in a clear ‘are you OK’ look. Merlin nodded, a huge smile quickly plastered across his face, but the moment the musician had to step forward to sing back-up, Merlin’s smile fell. 

Arthur willed him to pick himself up and dance again. Be strong and free and amazing because Arthur had to believe there were people in the world who danced alone in public and didn’t crumble under the bad opinion of others.

“Thanks for listening, Camelot, you’ve been peachy! Give it up for Freya on drums!” The tiny woman rattled off a short solo, black hair flying, as the crowd whooped. “Lance on guitar!” Lance bent low over the strings and played a complex arpeggio while Gwen fanned herself. “And I’m Gwaine, God’s gift to all of you,” he winked, and grinned as the room groaned. “This is our last song, enjoy!"

Merlin still looked miserable, the foot tapping in time to the music like everyone else in the room completely unsuited to his glee of earlier. Arthur felt a wave of anger, and injustice, and he moved.

“Hi.”

Merlin jumped as Arthur leaned in, and his blue eyes opened doe-wide. “Hi?”

“Dance with me?”

“I - um - I - are you sure?”

“Cenred’s an arsehole. Don’t let him spoil your night. Or mine.” Arthur’s heart beat hard with an uncommon bravery riding in on the wave. “I was enjoying watching you dance.”

Merlin’s cheeks flushed and that precious smile was back. “Oh, well, if it’s for Your Majesty’s entertainment…” There, _there_ was the sparkle. Arthur forgot he was in a suit, forgot his waist was straining on his buttons, forgot he worked with dickheads because he’d tried to compromise on his life and failed both his father and himself. 

He pulled Merlin close. Merlin’s smile creased his cheeks, squinting his eyes into half-moons, and they swayed together, hips touching. Arthur linked their fingers, drawing Merlin’s hands around his shoulders, then gripping his narrow waist. The music wrapped around them, as glad to have Merlin back on the dance floor as Arthur was. Holding Merlin close like this he didn’t care if his colleagues were watching. Hell, he didn’t care if his father walked in right now. Merlin may not have been a perfect mythical being, free and endlessly confident, but as he finished clapping for Avalon and tucked Merlin’s label into his t-shirt, Merlin smiled at him, and he felt a missing piece slot into place.

**Author's Note:**

> Alternative title: Merlin is not your Manic Pixie Dream Guy ;) I hope you guys liked it! I don't know nearly as much about roadie-ing as Arthur does (though I am just as much of a live music snob), so please let me know if you've spotted any inaccuracies!


End file.
